


As Precious to You

by Officer_Jennie



Series: MadaTobi Week [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M, MadaTobi Week 2019, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-07-23 13:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20009134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Officer_Jennie/pseuds/Officer_Jennie
Summary: MadaTobi Week, Day 5 - Soulmates





	As Precious to You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raendown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raendown/gifts).



> Because the queen of soulmate aus deserves some thrown at her face too
> 
> ~~I have no recollection of writing this story, but it was on my computer sooooooooo~~

Most people had at least some semblance of an attachment to their journals. A whole market existed across the continent and beyond for personalizing them, embossing words on the soft leather covers, adding flair to the edges of the pages. Some even specialized in adding pages so that past conversations would never be erased, leaving physical evidence of memories and passed words between the soulmates who shared them.

Tobirama felt no thrill nor joy when he came across his lost journal. It had been lost for a reason, hidden away and near purposely forgotten, dust coating the brown leather and leaving his fingertips smudged where he’d grabbed it while looking for an old notebook for his research.

He was tempted to chuck it. Only the fact that the window was decidedly shut for the winter stopped him, Tobirama left pursing his lips down at the damned thing while he stood in the midst of the mess he’d made of his room.

In all his near thirty years of life, Tobirama was certain he’d never held the thing so long in one sitting. It weighed more than one would expect for a notebook its size. His lips quirked with quicksilver amusement. Hashirama had always believed the journals held part of one’s soul, though Tobirama had never given such nonsense much thought.

Not that he had much need to. He turned the book in his hands, the metal clasp catching the light. If his late father was to be believed, Tobirama had no soul. Why they’d been cruel enough to have a soul journal crafted for him was a mystery.

He snorted at his own thoughts, running an absent finger over the gilded edges of pages he’d never seen. Butsuma had always been a cruel man. It was actually just like him to craft something Tobirama could never use.

Having such a blatant reminder that he was lacking lying around wasn’t exactly good for his confidence. 

Though now that he had it in hand…

Fingers drumming on the leather cover, Tobirama narrowed his eyes down at the damned book. The house would be empty for another hour or so, meaning any sort of bad reaction could be dealt with in time before Madara showed up for a late dinner - as was their routine of sorts every Friday evening, since Tobirama himself took half the day off to work on personal projects. And since he’d already found it, and his heart was already dropping from memories of tainted words and stinging blows, it could hardly get much worse just confirming once and for all just how soulless he’d been born.

It took an embarrassing amount of time to figure out how to open the damned thing. Metal clasps weren’t exactly commonplace amongst all the scrolls and parchment he was used to using for research and paperwork, and the tab he had to press down to pop it open was so small he had to strain his eyes to see it. It certainly didn’t help that there was little light in the room, with the curtains shut and his eyesight already being poor. Once he managed to open it, he went to the window, sliding the curtains open to give himself more light - and to stall just a few moments longer. No matter how iffy he was about any sort of pseudoscience, at this point there was little denying that soulmates were a hard fact of their world - and in extension, something that connected said soulmates together.

If that something was a literal part of themselves, an intangible essence often named their soul, no one could actually prove yet. He still had to clench his fingers to keep them from shaking, miffed at his own bodily response to the fear that had been drilled into him since birth.

The first page he opened to was blank. Not a word on its surface, and he felt his heart drop further at how empty it all was. He couldn’t help the hand that smoothed over the page, a stray thought drifting to his partner - how cruel was it to be with someone when he had no soul? Did it mean there was something inherently wrong with him? Was it really the fate of all who looked like him, to be born with no match, no other individual considered by the universe to fit him? - when his eyes landed on a stray smudge at the corner of the page.

His first thought was to check his own fingers for graphite or ink, knowing he often filthied up his hands by accident when working. But they were too clean to have left the mark themselves. He fiddled with the edges of the rest of the book, wondering if it was right to hope.

Without giving himself time to consider it further, he flipped to near the beginning, not even realizing he was holding his breath, the entire room silent in suspense of what he might find there - if he might find something there.

Whatever page he flipped to knocked the wind out of him, his eyes wide, hand flying back as he dropped down onto his bed.

Ink covered the page, words scratched in a hurry all over them. The writer hadn’t even bothered trying to keep their sentences straight. It looked as if the book might have been grabbed at random several times, flipped upside down and sideways, paragraphs and stray sentences written on top of one another until the words themselves were inseparable. A rather large ink splotch on the right-hand page didn’t make it any easier, though it still took several minutes of blinking before Tobirama could make sense of it all anyway.

There were words. Words meant someone had written them - an author, a separate person other than him. Tied to him.

His hands were shaking. When he finally started to flip through the book, he had to skip a rather large section, whatever memories left there lost since the pages were stuck together. It was around half way through the book that he landed, thankfully on a page that was much more legible, the writing in lines but still more chicken scratch than anything else.

It was more stories than anything else. Complaints about unnamed family members and friends, grouched out on the page - though he could tell rather quickly when the author was truly angry or just grumbling for the sake of it, since the quill scratched right through the page with more cursing than anything else for the former. And even though he recognized the handwriting near instantly he kept reading as if the words were from a stranger - someone willing to pass precious memories onto him, onto someone they never knew they might meet one day.

For whatever reason, that made the memories more intimate in his mind. One about bickering cousins, another about a sibling injuring themselves during practice - Tobirama chuckled at that one, storing the information away to use as blackmail for later, considering how embarrassing the injury was. By the time he felt Madara coming home, no doubt kicking the snow and glaring the whole way, Tobirama had reached the end.

Not really the end. There were dozens of pages left blank, but the words stopped where he was, one final paragraph that was formatted differently than all the rest.

It was addressed to him, though the writer had no name to start it with. Tobirama crossed his legs as he shifted on the bed, taking a moment to rub at his eyes and scoot just a little closer to the window for better light.

When he finished that last page, he could feel his cheeks trying to heat up, and he bit his lip in hopes of staving it back. Madara was home anyway - he could hear him grouching all the way in the entranceway, probably having caught his hair in his coat buttons as he had the day before.

There was little reason to get so embarrassed by what he read when he could instead weaponize it. With that in mind, and a smirk quirking his lips, Tobirama left his room behind to go tease his partner.

“I thought we were paying that little shit to shovel our walkway!”

He leaned against the wall as he watched Madara wrestle with his clothing, stripping off layer after layer while spitting fire at it all. With his chest so light he had to bite his own lip to keep from smiling, the soul journal tucked into his hands behind his back. “And which ‘little shit’ are you talking about?”

“You know the one! Blasted children and their damned names, don’t expect me to remember them all!” With his boots kicked off in the corner and most of his other clothing laying in a damp mess in the floor, Madara finally fully entered the home, coming up to stand in front of Tobirama with his hands on his hips. “If you don’t talk to him about his slacking, _ I  _ will.”

“So why should I do it then?”

The finger jabbed into his chest would probably leave a bruise with how forceful Madara was about it. “Because it’s one of  _ your  _ brats, not mine, and I’ve got better things to do with my time. I don’t even like children!”

“You say that about everyone.” He had to press his lips thin to keep from grinning down at his partner, who already looked as if he might start twitching.

Instead of twitching or sputtering any, Madara chose to walk away, making his way to the kitchen as if he owned the place. “It’s still true. And before you ask,  _ yes _ , I mean it’s true about  _ everyone _ .”

“Everyone?” Tobirama had to leave his perch against the wall, following after his unknowing prey, allowing himself to smirk now that Madara wasn’t looking at him. “You don’t like anyone. Not a single person comes to mind that might be an exception?”

“Not a one.” Even without being able to see it, Tobirama could tell Madara was making that face. The one he always made whenever saying a flat out lie, one that was meant to cover up any unsightly human  _ feelings  _ he might have.

It was a shame that Tobirama already had his claws extended, and had no plans of letting Madara out of this one. He came up behind his partner, wrapping one arm around his shoulders as he set about putting the kettle on.

“Funny, that, because I think you  _ do  _ like someone.” He nosed right up against Madara’s cheek, ducking back behind his head whenever he went to push him away. “And not just like either. Hmmm…”

Madara started to say something snarky back to him though Tobirama tuned it right out, maneuvering so that he could flip the journal open to the page he’d marked with his thumb, skimming the short passage right to the bottom - and to the most damning lines he believed Madara had ever written in his life.

“Ah, here it is. ‘Though we may have never truly spoken to one another, it feels wrong to continue writing to you when I’ve found someone to love. May you find someone as precious to you as he is to me.’”

Somewhere in his reading Madara had stiffened, and he flinched ever so slightly whenever Tobirama snapped the book shut, his grip tightening on the kettle’s handle. “How…? Did you steal my soul journal?”

“Steal your- no, idiot.” Just for even thinking of such an idiotic question, Tobirama wapped him atop his head with the journal, not feeling even the slightest bit sorry even when he started sputtering over it. “I didn’t need to, since our souls are apparently linked.”

And wasn’t that a funny thing to say. It left him a bit giddy, knowing that he had a soulmate at all - and knowing that he’d found Madara on his own, without feeling forced to merely accept what was ‘best’ for him according to whatever chose soulmates, meant he had less than no regrets about the connection.

Though the knowledge didn’t seem to be leaving Madara giddy. He looked more baffled than anything else, mouth agape like a land-trapped fish, eyes blinking and empty for a few moments - before his mouth snapped shut, and something damn near  _ soft  _ touching his face.

“We’re…?”

Tobirama turned the man around to face him, leaning him back against the counter. “Yes, we are.”

Even after being together for over two years, it felt a bit unnatural to let the moment stay soft. He still let it for the time being, letting their lips brush together, letting all the warmth of the discovery burn steady and unhurriedly between them.

That didn’t mean he’d be letting all of the embarrassment slide. Once he deemed the moment sufficiently savored, he smirked against Madara’s mouth, catching his gaze and entirely ready to sink his claws in.

“So, Madara,” he drawled, giving the man a final peck to send him off with, “Ready to tell me just how precious I am? Perhaps some poetry would go nice with the confession - I believe you have some written already.”

“Oh,  _ fuck off _ !”

Being roughly shoved away didn’t stop Tobirama from laughing, nor did it save Madara from further ribbing - both then and in the future. Though it was rather telling that Madara didn’t storm off and away to his own home, despite his many and frequent threats to do just that throughout the evening.

Really, Tobirama was beginning to think they had no need for separate households. He knew better than to bring it up that night, settling in to his futon and wrapping his Uchiha’s arms around his waist. The victories of the day were enough to keep him satisfied for the time being: his father had been wrong, Madara loved him, and he had more blackmail in his possession now than he’d ever hoped to gain on his partner. All in all, he really couldn’t have asked for a better ending for his day.


End file.
